


Yuri! At School

by onelonelystory



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crack, Future Fic, Gen, I want you to find a midwesterner and make them describe any non american skater, I will take many criticisms of this fic, Original Character(s), Yuri is... how you say? very op, but if you want to say it is unrealistic that no one recognizes any of them, but you know what I do what I want, if they pronounce their name correctly I'll give you a cookie, it's not even funny, the echoing repetitive monotony of high school, this is entirely for me, this is the most self indulgent piece of fiction I have ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22028707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onelonelystory/pseuds/onelonelystory
Summary: “We’re starting on artistic movement for everyone who’s got their ice legs already,” he says.“That’s great,” responds Yuri, an Olympic athlete, to a gym teacher.“I don’t suppose you’d like to opt out or take over?” asks the gym teacher, who watched Pyeongchang less than a year ago.“But I’m sure I have so much to learn from you,” says YuriIn order for US immigration to approve Yuri's visa, he is forced to go to high schoolWill upload very inconsistently. And that's from me.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Victor Nikiforov & Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79





	Yuri! At School

Once upon a time, Yuri attends school for the first time in three and a half years.

“I hear he’s been held back two years,” someone whispers as Yuri walks past. He finds this unfair; at 17, he is hardly the oldest 11th standard student around. And he dropped out due to a financially successful and time consuming career, not because he was a bad student. Because he has mellowed out in the two years, he just shoots the gossip a death glare and continues his search for the Headmaster’s office. He arrived early enough that no one had been at the door to show him his way, but Yuri was a self sufficient fucker if nothing else.

He does not lose face at having walked past the main office doors twice before noticing. 

“Ah! You must be our transfer!” booms a jolly looking fellow. “I’m Mr. Johnson, your princi _ pal _ here. Haha, get it?” 

Yuri did not, in fact, get  _ it,  _ or any of the other puns Principal Johnson seemed to pepper his conversation with. Yuri was better than passable at English; he had always been good at languages. But he had no one to learn wordplay from in English like in other languages, as of the two native English speakers Yuri knew well, De la Iglesia preferred Spanish and the bastard spoke Quebecois. So Yuri’s English was stilted. He’s been known to forget determiners and quantifiers like ‘the,’ or ‘this,’ and he could barely understand the pun filled jumble of casual jargon spilling from the round balding principal across the desk. As soon as he found as acceptable opening, he grabbed his schedule and materials and thanked Mr. Johnson for his time.

He slides into Trigonometry 5 minutes late and finds eyes and whispers directed at him immediately. It is both familiar and discomforting and he tries to ignore the attention. The teacher, a tired looking woman in her middle ages, gestures at him oddly.

“You. Come up here and introduce yourself.”

Yuri hesitates at being singled out. “Is it not first day for every student?” he mutters, giving in. “My name is Yuri Plisetskaya, I am from Moscow, but I lived in St. Petersburg for long time before here.”

The teacher finds his introduction insufficient, apparently. “Does anyone have any questions for Mr. Plisetskaya before we begin?” Several hands fly up. “Asha,” the teacher picks.

“Did you move to escape dictatorial oppression?” asks a shy looking girl in complete earnest. 

“No,” says Yuri.

Without any warning, several more questions fly his way. 

“Have you ever been to an execution?” 

“Are you in a gang?”

“Are you a spy?”

“Why would I tell if I was spy?” he blurts out in slight confusion. 

The teacher coughs awkwardly. “I’m Ms. Autworthy. Have a seat and we can begin.”

All the classes that followed went something like this. (Save for French, which went a little more like, 

“Hey, you, young Russian child, introduce yourself,”

“ _ Avec plaisir. Bonjour, je m'appelle Yuri Plisetskaya. Je suis un étudiant en transfert de Russie. et en venant de Moscou, j'ai vécu un moment à Saint-Pétersbourg avant de déménager ici. Je vais sur une longue tangente maintenant parce que vous m'avez tous contrarié et qu'aucun de vous ne sait ce que je dis.” _

“Please have mercy strange child I have a masters in history and get paid below living wages to teach a language I don’t speak”)

Then, at the end of the day, the entire 11th standard class of this tiny school in rural Michigan gathered in the gym for an update on Physical Education.

“For those of you who don’t know me,” This was clearly only Yuri, but he appreciated the effort. “I’m Coach Laquamire, feel free to call me Coach Jace. Today I get to talk about an exciting opportunity. As many of you may know, our first semester is spent on ice. While we’re lucky enough to have our school’s practice rink, the newly built “Victory on Ice” has granted permission to use their facilities for 2 hours every weekday.” An excited murmur passes through the gym. “Alright, I know it’s exciting, settle down please. This opportunity will allow us to get everyone on the ice at once, and I’m excited to see how I can diversify this unit so I can work you all as hard as possible.” He puts on a fake harsh mask, and everyone laughs. “We start tomorrow! Don’t forget to pack your skates if you have them, and report to the buses after 7th period.”

When Yuri walked into Victory on Ice after school let out, his first action was to kick the Katsudon. “I would have appreciated some warning, jackass,” he grumbled.

Yuuri looked puzzled. “Is this about the gym class thing?”

“What else?”

“We’re being contributing members of a community. You should try it, Yurio.”

Yuri throws a pen at his head.

In one of the many smaller private rinks Victory on Ice was proud to offer, Jason McNamara looked Yuri up and down and laughed.

“Those are some girly-ass skates you got there, Plisetskaya. Is that why you’re actually here? You 

got kicked outta your country for being a fuckin’-”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Yuri said pleasantly. Jason hadn’t known Yuri long enough to know that Yuri was never pleasant. There are many things Yuri does not know about English, but he knows that word and he can and will shove that word down Jason-the-homophobe's throat. “I could beat you and your Varsity Hockey жопа with no problem in these ‘girly-ass’ skates, you  козел.”

“Now then, strange child I don’t know, that is no language to be using in a class,” titters a bright voice that makes Yuri almost groan.

“Who the fuck are you?” growls Jason, like an American idiot who does not recognize the most decorated figure skater in the history of the sport.

“Oh, no one interesting,” replied Viktor, like an idiot skating prodigy who knows he’s not about to be recognized. “But I do co-own this facility, and I’ve been asked to see over your section of the class while your teacher works with the less familiar skaters. We could begin with testing your words if you’d like!” Viktor smiled and shoved a helmet and a hockey stick in Yuri’s direction. “I’ll let whoever wins a 10 minute one-on-one run the other’s warm up drills for a week.”

Yuri shrugged, the thrum of anger annoyingly spliced with the comfortable certainty that Viktor had his back. “That sounds acceptable.”

Jason looked wary for a second before agreeing, and Viktor cleared the rink for them.

“Just so you know,” Yuri commented, bracing his stick between his elbows behind and twisting his body to loosen up, “I once beat KHL’s rookie of year in one on one match over my best friends honor. It lasted 3 hours and he ended up with broken nose.”

“Sure,” snorts Jason, flipping down the visor on his varsity-issued helmet. “Why couldn’t your friend fight for his own honor?”

Yuri shrugged and casually swung his stick down, with enough speed to behead a man. “He said he would not play opposite girl, but he was…” He struggled for the word. “Coward. Baba would have torn his shoulders out of his sockets and had it called legal check.”

Yuri saw Viktor very subtly choke on a laugh before lifting a hand in the air. “As we say in Russia,  удар его задницу, Юрочка.” He swung his arm down, and Yuri did not disappoint. Ten minutes go by quickly, the score an embarrassing 3-to-nil. Jason hadn’t had a chance to touch a single hair on Yuri’s head.

“You’re too slow,” Yuri gloats. “I’ll fix that.”

Coach Jace finds out and scolds the two of them, and Jason-the-homophobe gets a team suspension for bullying. So all in all it was a successful Tuesday.

Viktor and Yuuri also took him out for ice cream to celebrate his win, even though it was an obvious and petty bet. It was stupid and Yuri will never admit how nice it is to receive support for those pointless little accomplishments.

“To Yura!” cheers Viktor. “Acclimating himself to high school rivalries already.” Yuuri laughs and pats him on the head and Yuri hides his smile behind his Chocolate-Vanilla Swirl.

Wednesday, Yuri decides to participate in class.

1st period is still Trig, a class that his insufficient understanding of English has little bearing on, which means he can volunteer to answer questions he knows he can get right. 2nd period English was expected to be a miserable hell, but by not understanding English sentence structure, Yuri discovers Americans never bother to learn what they knew automatically, and he and the teacher had a fascinating conversation about predicates.

They swapped his 3rd period French for Chinese. Oh, no, if only China had been one of the most represented countries in the skating world. Whatever will he do.

4th period is an art and design elective that hadn’t actually given him trouble even on the first day, when he thinks about it. He draws cats for 47 minutes and someone fistbumps him. He thinks they might be high, but the teacher has looked up from his mid-grade horror erotica novel exactly one time this week and it was to introduce Yuri to the class, so he figures this is just part of the American High School Experience. Or the void, but he’s heard they’re pretty much the same thing.

5th period is his lunch section and also the first time he’s ever thought his diet meals were the comparatively more appetizing selection, though he still can’t say he enjoys his low-sodium bean soup. 6th period physics, a worksheet misrepresents the form and action of a jump, (as if a person is the same as a perfect sphere!) and in his indignation Yuri barely even noticed that he’d gone up to the board to draw out each and every step of the movements that had been ingrained his whole life with mathematical precision, and everyone in his 7th period pretended not to stare at him as they painted a highly inaccurate profile of the rise of Marxism.

He’s the first to the buses, because he didn’t bother retrieving his sports duffel from his gym locker. (He has his own private locker and prep room at their destination, it felt a bit redundant.) Coach Jace sees him and sighs.

“We’re starting on artistic movement for everyone who’s got their ice legs already,” he says.

“That’s great,” responds Yuri, an Olympic athlete, to a gym teacher.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to opt out or take over?” asks the gym teacher, who watched Pyeongchang less than a year ago.

“But I’m sure I have so much to learn from you,” says Yuri, who has perfected the art of being a little shit from years of observing his pseudo-brother. 

Coach Jace lightly rams his head against the bus door and smiles.

“... I think I could do brief demonstration of axel jump,” says Yuri, who has not perfected Viktor’s guilelessness. “Nice and simple, and average Russian skill.”

Coach Jace sighs again. “Why are you even in my class? Don’t you have significantly better qualified coaches? Who did I spite?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what are you talking about,” Yuri snorts as the rest of the class starts trickling outside.

Jason-the-homophobe bumps into him getting onto the bus. Yuri forgives him this once because fools have their pride and Yuri’s honor is not worth quite as much to him as people seem to think it is. Next time, Jason-the-homophobe will be lacking a tongue for it. 

“Ah, look, little angry Russian child I do not know!” says Viktor, his voice too bright for how his accent fits around English. 

“We met yesterday,” Yuri says. His voice fits his accent just right. At least three of his classmates stop stretching to step back in fear. It is beautiful. “I have been asked to demonstrate some skating. Single axel, very basic Russian skill, no?”

“I, a Russian, can even do a double axel,” Victor agrees mischievously. “Come, I shall show you to your rink for today.” Victor and Yuri walk towards the ice, and the rest follow.

“ Аксель, юрочка, правда? Я думал, ты сейчас инкогнито,” Victor prods.

“My poor fucking gym teacher,” Yuri says, “Is a poor bastard. I have pity.”

“Hey,” says Coach Jace, mildly affronted.

“It is only truth,” Yuri responds. He shakes his arms out and steps onto the ice. “Whenever you are ready, Coach, I am ready.”

“Alright, class!” Coach Jace projects loudly across the rink. Victory on Ice only opens at 5 on weekdays, so when the high schoolers quiet down there is a heavy echo. “Plistskaya here learned some cool tricks in his home town of Moscow, and has agreed to show off a bit. Sit down and watch.” Coach Jace is a school favorite, so they do. Yuri rolls his shoulders and begins his build up.

Yuri landed his first single axel when he was five years old and still in the old dingy rink in Solntsevo. He is not one to diminish the importance of foundations, but it is a mindless motion now. So mindless in fact, that when upon landing Victor calls out, “са́льхов!” he does a double salchow without even thinking. He lands cleanly and glares. Coach Jace looks a little like he wants to cry. Yuri will get Mila to flirt with Anna Prugova for an autograph or something for him. 

The class spends the next two hours learning foot placement and figure eights and Coach Jace has Yuri help the kids who can’t seem to find their ice legs on the other rink. No one has stopped whispering behind his back since he walked into school on Monday, but Yuri has become a duck now. Is that what the Americans say? Oh, well. He’s elected to store his vindictive rage for when he can better utilize the emotion. Anyway, he thinks he’s got a handle on this whole ‘school’ business.


End file.
